


Jaquemart III - New Skins and Old Skins

by alanharnum



Series: Jaquemart [3]
Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:16:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanharnum/pseuds/alanharnum





	Jaquemart III - New Skins and Old Skins

JAQUEMART  
by  
Alan Harnum

Utena and its characters belongs to Be-PaPas, Chiho Saito,  
Shogakukan, Shokaku Iinkai and TV Tokyo.

This copy of the story is from my Archive of Our Own page at http://archiveofourown.org/users/alanharnum/pseuds/alanharnum.

 

III. New Skins and Old Skins

Well, I'll be damned  
Here comes your ghost again  
But that's not unusual  
It's just that the moon is full  
And you happened to call  
And here I sit  
Hand on a telephone  
Hearing a voice I'd known  
A couple of light years ago  
Heading straight for a fall  
\--Joan Baez, "Diamonds and Rust"

* * *

The room was large, but sparsely appointed: a small hard bed  
with a table beside it, and, opposite them, against the wall and  
beneath the window, a little writing desk and chair. Two doors,  
one leading to the hall, another to a closet. A chest of  
drawers, standing on four small legs upon the carpetless  
floorboards.

Leo Cano sat at the desk reading a letter. On the wall  
before him to his left and right, on either side of the window,  
hung the only two non-utilitarian items in the room: a heavy  
wooden crucifix in the increasingly unfashionable style wherein  
all the sufferings of the Passion were visible in almost sadistic  
detail, and a framed reproduction of Jusepe de Ribera's painting  
of Saint Christopher.

He was not a young man, had not been for some time, and  
even in his youth had never felt especially young. These days,  
he felt deep kinship to the bearded giant in de Ribera's  
painting, who, despite his great size and corded muscles, bent  
down beneath the most lovely, most precious and most heavy burden  
upon his shoulder.

My dear friend, (so began the letter)

My confidence in your skill and that of those you have  
trained is such that I have absolute faith that by now the  
witch lies within your hands. 

Remember as always the exhortation of Exodus 22:18; if  
her soul is already lost, then the will of God is clear.  
But remember also Luke 17:3; it applies as much to our  
sisters as it does to our brothers. If she repents of the  
iniquity of her witchcraft and asks sincerely that her soul  
be saved, forgive her and do her no more harm. 

Woman is yet a perfidious and weak-willed creature,  
however; be on your guard, for her tricks are many, and a  
true witch is a woman sunk to her very basest nature. 

I hope that this letter finds you strong in faith and  
health, ready for whatever further tasks Our Lord may ask of  
us in these times which so greatly try the souls of men.

I hope also that you and your men are pleased with the  
gifts I included with my last letter. These rings,  
emblazoned with the Mystical Rose that is but one sign of  
that most gracious and virtuous of ladies, serpent's  
destroyer and terror of hell, eternal symbol and guardian  
of the Church Most Holy and Catholic, shall serve to remind  
us of the personal bond we share. In days such as these,  
when the True Church of God is in the hands of weak and  
foolish men, and the hand of friendship rather than rebuke  
is extended to both pagans and heretics alike, the burden  
borne by men such as you and I is very great. Be strong,  
and know that you do God's work.

Yours in Christ and the True Church,  
\--Majo no Kanazuchi

Aside from the signature, the letter was in English, the  
common language of their correspondence. Leo was grateful for  
that fact; he had heard the Japanese language described once as  
being invented by demons, and could well believe it. He could  
speak it quite well, albeit with a heavy accent, but remembering  
the meanings of the kanji well enough to read it had so far  
escaped him. 

Leo put the letter down on the desk and leaned back in his  
chair. He clasped his hands before him and examined the ring  
upon his finger, the gift of Majo no Kanazuchi; a tiny cross,  
within the heart of a styilized rose. Was the symbolism  
deliberate? He often wondered just how much Majo no Kanazuchi,  
whomever his correspondent was, knew about his past.

Such suspicions are unbecoming and ill-hearted, he chided  
himself. Majo no Kanazuchi was as true of servant of God and the  
Church as he was, and had never lead him wrong in the seven or so  
years they'd been in contact with one another.

Still, it bothered him. Did Majo no Kanazuchi know of his  
past history with this one? If so, why had he not specified her  
identity within earlier letters? Tact, perhaps? A man as  
secretive as Majo no Kanazuchi would undoubtedly have respect for  
the secrets of others.

He picked up a pen from the desk and a pad of stationery  
from the drawer to compose his reply.

My dear friend, (so he began, as he always did)

The witch is in my hands. This situation is more  
complex than any other I have become involved with during  
our association, however, and the obligation lies upon me to  
explain some things. Bear with me if you know them already,  
and know that I do not resent you if you have pried into my  
past; you are a cautious man, and undoubtedly with good  
reason.

You know from our previous correspondence that I have  
been engaged in my most holy and necessary task for over  
thirty years now, but I have never told you in detail--

Someone knocked loudly on the hall door; Leo's pen paused.

"Enter."

Mathias, small and swarthy and perpetually nervous, looked  
in from the hallway without entering the room. "The witch is  
awake."

"So soon?"

The young man fidgeted. "Yes. Salvadore got the  
preparations ready before she woke up, though."

"Good." Leo put down his pen and rose from the desk.  
"Thank you, Mathias." He paused to put Majo no Kanazuchi's  
letter and his incomplete reply away in the drawer and lock it  
securely. When he got a chance later, he would finish it.  
Dealing with the witch was the priority.

* * *

Utena knocked, waited, knocked again. Waited. Knocked again.

Waited.

"Maybe they went out?" Nanami suggested.

"No." Utena shook her head. "Juri wouldn't do that. She  
would have waited for me." She tried the knob. Locked.

"Well, Utena, this little quest of yours is working out just  
wonderfully so far. Did you ever actually make sure Juri would  
wait for you?"

"Well, no," Utena admitted with a sigh. "I just assumed..."

Nanami shook her head, and appeared to be on the verge of  
laughing. "Well, of course; that's just like you. You would  
have waited, so, of course, Juri would wait too. That's why you  
never caught on until too late about what Akio was."

Utena forcibly suppressed a scowl. "What do you mean?"

"You project yourself onto others too much," Nanami said  
pedantically. "Everyone does it, of course, but it's good-  
hearted people who suffer the most from it."

"Backhanded compliment, Nanami?"

Nanami sniffed. "Statement of fact."

"Can we talk about this later?" Utena turned back to the  
door and knocked a fifth time. Tried the knob again. "Damn it!"

"Utena, they went out. Either that, or something happened  
to them to make them unable to answer the door; but I don't  
suppose that's likely."

Utena froze, hand still on the metal doorknob, which  
suddenly felt cold as ice under her grip. "The Knight," she  
whispered.

"What?" Nanami asked, perplexed.

The Knight had followed her to Saionji and Wakaba's  
apartment, after all. If he'd... but he couldn't have lived, it  
was a ten story fall...

She began to pound on the door. "Juri! Juri-sempai!"

"Utena, keep your voice down," Nanami hissed. "Do you want  
to cause a scene?"

"Juri-sempai!"

Nanami seized her shoulder tightly and tried to pull her  
away from the door; Utena resisted. "What's wrong with you?"

"I think they may be in trouble," Utena replied. "Help me  
break down the door!"

"Break it down? Even if they are in trouble, they're not  
answering the door, so time can't matter that greatly. I'll go  
get the superintendent."

Utena snarled, and was about to begin ramming her shoulder  
against the door when it opened. Juri was on the other side,  
looking slightly frazzled. The tight curls of her hair were  
slicked with sweat, and she'd changed out of the turtleneck she'd  
been wearing earlier to--or perhaps had taken it off to reveal--a  
sleeveless, scoop-necked blue tank-top. The golden locket with  
its rose design dangled prominently between her breasts.

"Hi, Utena. Hi, Nanami. Listen, I'm really busy right now.  
Can you come back in about an hour? Oh, and take him with you."  
She handed Utena a bloated, snoring Chu-Chu. "Thanks."

"How's Shiori? Her memories..."

"Still working on it," Juri said. She seemed to be  
breathing rather heavily. "Listen, it's a delicate situation  
right now, so, really..."

Over Juri's shoulder, Utena could see that the bedroom door  
was open; the lights inside appeared to be off. "Well... okay.  
In an hour."

"An hour." Juri nodded, and closed the door.

Utena and Nanami (with Chu-Chu asleep in Utena's arms) left  
the apartment building in silence and stood on the sidewalk  
outside, watching traffic and pedestrians pass.

"Well," Nanami said quietly. "I guess it's taking her a lot  
longer to restore Shiori's memories than it took you to restore  
mine."

Utena nodded, slowly. "Yeah."

They looked at each other. Both of them managed to keep  
sober expressions; any observer would have noticed no subtext or  
tension or hidden meaning to the exchange at all, which was,  
Utena guessed, what both of them wanted.

"Want to go and get coffee?" Nanami asked after a moment.

"I had coffee an hour ago," Utena said. "I had a coffee  
before I got on the plane this morning, I had one on the plane,  
and I had one when I got into Tokyo at the airport. I think I've  
had enough coffee for today." She paused; the winter sun seemed  
very bright, and her legs were a little wobbly. "You know, I've  
eaten a yakitori skewer and a biscotti since breakfast. And  
breakfast was five rice crackers. Oh, and they gave me some  
peanuts on the plane. I'm _starving_."

"Well," Nanami said thoughtfully, "I usually skip lunch on  
even days, but today has--thanks to you--been very stressful, and  
I think I could use some calories."

"You know someplace around here?"

"This isn't my neighbourhood; I'm sure we can find  
something, though."

They began to walk. After a moment, Nanami put her arm  
through Utena's again. Utena paused and looked over at her,  
causing a man walking behind them to be forced to divert around  
them; he muttered something untelligible under his breath as he  
passed.

"What?" Nanami asked, wide-eyed.

"Why do you keep on doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"The arm thing."

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

Utena sighed. "Just tell me why."

"I'm just trying to be friendly," Nanami said after a  
moment. She looked oddly hurt.

"It's a little weird," Utena said hesitantly. She was  
starting to feel guilty now. "Umm... you know. Since you were  
screaming at me and trying to strangle me less than an hour ago."

"Oh, Utena, don't be silly." Nanami tossed her free hand  
vaguely. "That was so long ago."

Utena's stomach rumbled. "Erg. I'm _really_ hungry,  
Nanami," she said. "Let's go." 

"That's what I was trying to do. You were the one who  
stopped us."

"...you have a point there."

With a sleeping Chu-Chu on one arm and a strangely friendly  
Nanami on the other, Utena went in search of lunch. They ended  
up finding a small noodle house several blocks from Juri and  
Shiori's apartment building. Utena concentrated almost entirely  
on eating her miso soup and yakisoba while Nanami talked  
cheerfully of completely inconsequential things: her classes,  
books she'd been reading, her exercise program, and much else  
related to herself. 

To Utena's surprise, Chu-Chu (who was hidden in her purse;  
from past experience, she knew that restaurateurs tended to take  
his presence badly) didn't even wake up the whole time.

Nanami was cheerful and bubbly to the point of becoming  
suspicious. Utena remembered this well from Ohtori; it meant  
that she was hiding or planning something. Probably both.

But what? Utena thought for a minute, and then interrupted  
Nanami in the midst of her description of a new diet she'd read  
about in a magazine. "So, what did Touga tell you when you  
called him?"

The change was pronounced as day to night; Utena could  
almost see Nanami's exuberance retreat, like a turtle into its  
shell, as a dark look fell over her face.

"Later," she replied shortly. 

"That's what you said last time," Utena pointed out.

"When all four of us are together. Then I won't have to  
repeat it."

Utena sighed. "You do realize you're going to have to say  
eventually, don't you?"

Nanami nodded grudgingly. "I suppose."

"Nanami, look... I know this can't be easy for you, but--"

"What's done is done," Nanami snapped. "Let's not dwell on  
it, all right? It's easier for me if you don't try to apologize  
every five minutes. What do you want me to say? That I forgive  
you? Fine! I forgive you. Happy now?"

Utena opened her mouth, then closed it and turned her  
attention completely to her food. They finished the meal in  
uncomfortable silence, paid, and left.

Outside the restaurant, Nanami glanced at her watch. "Still  
half an hour to go. I'm going for a walk. See you back at  
Juri's place."

"Nanami..."

"What?"

Utena shook her head. "Never mind. Just be careful."

"Of what?"

"Later."

Nanami scowled. "Hey--" Then, slowly, she smiled; not a  
nice smile, either. "You're learning." She walked off, waving  
a hand absently in farewell. "Later, Utena."

Utena went in the opposite direction, deep in thought. She  
couldn't get a handle on Nanami. She'd changed so much, and yet,  
at the same time, changed so little. Had she been right to give  
Nanami her memories back, despite the suspicions?

Only time, she supposed, would really tell. 

* * *

Nanami was late again, a fact for which Utena was this time  
grateful, as it gave her a chance to quickly talk things over  
with Juri and Shiori out of Nanami's presence.

"So... let me see if I understand this properly. You had  
your suspicions about her, she was wearing a Rose Signet given to  
her by Touga--who, incidentally, sounds from his job title like  
he might very well be our Knight... I mean, really, Utena,  
Director of Off-Campus Operations?--and yet you decided to  
restore her memories all the same."

Utena looked down at the floor, hands resting nervously on  
her knees. "Well, yes. It just seemed like the right thing to  
do at the time."

Juri shook her head, curls flouncing as she did, and sighed.  
She leaned back against the wall where the fencing gear was  
displayed, hair almost brushing the blade of one of the foils,  
and said no more.

"You know, Utena," Shiori said, curled up at one end of the  
couch, "what seems to be the right thing to do at the time is  
neither necessarily the right thing nor, more importantly, the  
smart thing."

Utena regarded her flatly. "Words of wisdom if ever there  
were, Shiori-chan."

Shiori smiled saccharinely back. 

"Smart or right or not, it's been done." Juri pushed off  
from the wall and came to lean against the arm of the couch next  
to Shiori. "We'll just have to see what happens."

"Do the two of you have real swords?" Utena asked.  
"Something you can actually get into a serious duel with?"

Juri nodded. "Foils are too light. And, frankly, not  
dangerous enough. We've got some reproductions of duelling  
blades from various countries and eras that we've picked up over  
the years on the bedroom walls. Light and strong; the edges  
aren't sharpened at the moment, but that's easily remedied."

"Why don't we just shoot him?" Shiori suggested.

Utena and Juri both looked at her pointedly. "What?" she  
asked, blinking. "Wouldn't it be easier?"

"Sure. We'll run down to the local yakuza, pick up a sniper  
rifle, and then I'll pick him off from a thousand feet away; not  
that I've ever fired a gun before, but, how hard can it be?" Juri  
said. 

"Swords are appropriate," Utena added.

Shiori snorted. "Screw appropriate. Wasn't playing along  
with our little fairy-tale roles what got us all in trouble in  
the first place? Stab him, shoot him, run him over with a car  
and burn the damn body... who cares, as long as he ends up dead?"

Utena smiled grimly. "I like your enthusiasm." Yet the  
words conjured terrible images for her: her prince--no, no, he  
had never really been her prince. Akio, dark soul and beautiful  
body, broken and bleeding...

"Utena?"

"Sorry. Thinking about something." She shook her head to  
clear it. "What I mean to say is that Shiori's got a point. As  
long as Akio is.... dead, then we shouldn't worry about how we do  
it." But she didn't really believe that, did she... the ends  
didn't necessarily justify the means.

She straightened her back in the chair and bent forward,  
resting her chin in her hands and looking slowly from Shiori to  
Juri. "Nanami had a good point too, earlier," she said, thinking  
back. "We don't even have any real assurance that we _can_ kill  
Akio. I mean, I know that his power has some limits, but I don't  
know if he dies that easily." She thought of a dark shape from  
out of childhood's shadows: a woman suspended, pierced by swords,  
suffering undying. "Thinking about it, I doubt he will."

"Call Himemiya," Juri suggested. Utena winced, and Juri's  
expression softened slightly. "At least try it, Utena."

Utena nodded. "Later; after we get a chance to talk things  
over with Nanami."

"Speaking of her," Shiori said, "is there anything else we  
should get out of the way before she arrives?"

"Yeah." Utena cleared her throat and bowed her head  
slightly, twisting her hands together just as the knot in her  
stomach twisted. "Akio killed Kozue."

Juri looked as though she'd just been struck across the  
face. "W-what?"

"I think," Utena corrected. "Nanami told me. The car  
accident... Akio was driving. It was his car. They went into  
the ocean together after breaking through a guardrail; Kozue's  
body was never found."

Juri began to pace the room, an agonized expression on her  
face; Shiori's worried gaze followed her. "I should have known  
that," Juri murmured sadly; then fiercely, as though trying to  
flay herself with the words: "I should have known! Should have  
talked to Miki more! How did I ever..."

"Juri, sit down," Shiori said gently, almost commandingly.  
Juri slumped down on the couch beside her; Shiori put her arm  
around the other woman in a casual, comforting embrace. The  
sight made Utena both vaguely uncomfortable and slightly lonely.

As Juri leaned her head against Shiori's shoulder, red-gold  
curls spilling curtain-like over Shiori's chest, the phone rang.  
Utena almost leapt out of the chair. "Don't get up--I'll get it.  
It's probably Nanami." She hurried into the kitchen, which--from  
the sound of things--was where the closest phone was. "Hello?"

//"Utena? Buzz me in, please."//

She had to call back to Juri and Shiori for instructions on  
how to do so. Nanami hung up, and Utena walked back into the  
main room of the apartment. "She's coming up now," she reported.

Juri raised her head and nodded, then moved away from  
Shiori to the other end of the couch; Shiori, Utena noted, looked  
less than pleased by that.

Nanami arrived shortly thereafter, and took a seat in the  
chair opposite the one Utena sat in. "Hello again, Juri; I'm  
glad to have come at a more convenient time, this time. And  
hello, Shiori; I don't think I've seen you since that fencing  
match we had a few months ago."

"Why, I don't think you have," Shiori said with frosty,  
sharp-edged sweetness. 

Nanami smiled, pleasantly and completely superficially. "I  
do hope we have another one sometime in the future."

"That would be nice," Shiori replied, smiling right back.

"Stop it, you two," Juri said. "We've got bigger and older  
feuds to settle."

Nanami and Shiori exchanged pretty, poisonous smiles for a  
moment longer, and then looked away from one another towards  
Utena. Juri did the same.

"Well?" Shiori asked after a moment.

Utena blinked. "Oh, yes." She was, she supposed, the de  
facto leader. "Well... we have to kill Akio, and, umm--"

"Utena," Juri interrupted quietly but forcefully. "You  
faced him in battle. I don't know how much more you know about  
him--what he is--than we do, but you must know something. So  
tell us, you must know... what was the Revolution? We all sought  
the Power of Dios for our own reasons, but... what was its  
nature?"

"The power to revolutionize the world," Utena murmured  
distantly. "The power of Dios."

"Yes," Juri said, after a long silence. "That's what we  
want to know about. Go on."

"It's hard to know where to begin." Utena looked from one  
face to the next. "I suppose at the beginning, at least as I  
understand it. Once, long ago, there was a noble prince--Dios,  
the Rose Prince--who worked to save all the girls in the entire  
world, by making them into princesses. Thus, darkness was kept  
from covering all the land."

"When was this?" Shiori arched an eyebrow suspiciously.  
"What land? What country?"

"I don't know," Utena answered. "Any of that. It's only  
the story I was told."

Nanami crossed her arms. "Hmph. By who?"

Akio. Dios. Shadows. Scattered seeds that Anthy had let  
drop in the last seven years--disturbingly few, in hindsight. "A  
few sources. Anyway," she said, brushing off further questions,  
"the one girl the prince couldn't save was his sister--"

"Why not?" Shiori asked.

"Shiori..." Juri began, half-chidingly.

Utena glanced to Juri and shook her head. "No, it's a good  
question. I don't really... I don't really know why..."

"They were brother and sister," Nanami said head bowed,  
hugging her arms tightly to herself. "Your brother can't become  
your prince--it just doesn't work that way."

"That makes so much sense," Shiori said, giving Nanami a  
false smile. "Thank you, Nanami. You really sound as though--"

Juri looked at her pointedly, and Shiori shut her mouth,  
even having the grace to look a little embarrassed. Nanami merely  
turned her nose up and humphed again.

"Anyway," Utena continued. "One day, the prince became ill.  
No," she said quickly, seeing the now-familiar look rising on  
Shiori's face, "I don't know why. Maybe saving all the girls in  
the land was too much work, even for the Rose Prince. His sister  
tended to his illness as best she could, but the people came to  
their door demanding the prince's help. They were desperate;  
their daughters were imperilled by dragons and wizards and  
monsters." She realized she was embellishing a little, but it  
seemed somehow correct; stories transformed, after all. "Dios's  
sister went out to speak to them; she said that Dios could not  
come out, that he was too weak to fight and would die if he did.  
In their rage and desperation, they cursed her as a witch who had  
stolen the prince from them, and pierced her body with swords."

Their faces were rapt now, even Shiori's. Utena felt an odd  
thrill of power. "That day, Dios ceased to be a prince,  
and became Ends of the World; his sister became the Rose Bride.  
Akio and Anthy." She fell silent, awaiting response; the first  
part of the tale was finished. Had she told it right? Or if not  
right, had she at least told it well? After seven years, the  
details were so hard to hold in her mind...

"Go on, Utena," Juri said finally. "That's not all of it.  
Tell us about the last duel. The one called Revolution." 

"Yes, sempai." Utena shifted in her chair and cracked her  
knuckles as she tried to figure out what to say next. "Give me a  
minute... it was seven years ago, and Anthy and I... we never  
really even talked about it."

"If they pierced her body with swords, how did she live?"  
Shiori asked dubiously. "That would take a miracle." 

"So would a lot of the things we saw, in your eyes," Juri  
said slowly, obviously hesitant. "It doesn't necessarily make it  
a miracle just because we don't understand it."

Utena looked appraisingly at Juri. "You always said there  
were no miracles, sempai."

"I did used to say that, didn't I?" Juri murmured. 

Nanami cupped her chin thoughtfully. "It all may just be  
metaphorical or allegorical in nature. Like a parable. Most  
fairy tales have a hidden meaning--" She stopped and looked  
around at the expressions of the others. "What? It's _true_.  
In class this year... Oh, never mind!"

Utena cleared her throat and raised her voice slightly to  
cut off further discussion. "After I chose to face the final  
duel, I did the usual ascent thing... the arena was dark, and  
then Akio stepped out..." She hung her head. "It was then that  
I put it all together... when I finally knew for sure that he was  
Ends of the World." Akio had said she'd always known, but she  
hadn't, she really hadn't...

Once again, she looked from face to face. Did any of them  
know... did any of them suspect just what kind of relations she'd  
had with Akio? Probably not... perhaps Nanami, but she wasn't  
saying anything... in fact, Nanami almost looked sad as she  
stared back, as though she had some hidden, painful knowledge  
that Utena didn't.

"So when did you put it together?" she asked. "After I  
restored your memories?"

"I knew right before I faced you for the last time," Juri  
said quietly. "In fact, the only reason I... but it's not really  
important." She glanced at Shiori, then glanced away. Shiori  
did the same. Ruka's tied up in there somewhere, Utena thought  
vaguely, but said nothing out loud. Not her business.

"I knew as well," Nanami admitted, tangling her hands in her  
lap and looking somewhat shamefacedly away from Utena. "I..."

Utena stared at them both. "And you couldn't have told me?"  
she asked softly, in wounded tones. "It would have just taken a  
few words, you know. 'Hey Utena, you know Ohtori Akio? The guy  
whose tower you live in? The one who you... who you...'" She  
had to stop to swallow, and glared at Juri with hurt eyes. "I  
thought you were my friend, sempai. You knew _that_ early, and  
you didn't say anything?"

"I was your friend, Utena," Juri replied, firmly but not  
unkindly. "As much as I could be your opponent as well, at the  
same time, and a Duellist, and a member of the Student Council.  
The Code of the Rose Signet forbade us from telling you. To tell  
you would have been to undermine your chances of bringing the  
Revolution."

"Yes, and, I mean, that just worked out _so_ well," Utena  
snapped. "So how did you find out? Huh?" She shot her gaze  
accusingly at Juri, Nanami, even Shiori, who had been silent for  
a while now. "What did he do?"

"He showed us," Shiori muttered darkly. "Showed us the ends  
of the world."

"Oh, that's really descriptive," Utena shouted, half-rising  
from her chair with her fingers tightly clenched on the arms.  
"So I'm just supposed to tell you all everything, and you'll all  
just keep on speaking in cryptic little epigrams, which, let me  
tell you, went on just a _little_ too damn much at Ohtori."

"We," Nanami said, icily pointed, "did not rip your life  
apart by forcing you to remember things you might have been  
better off forgetting. I think there's a certain  
responsibility--"

"Fuck you, Nanami," Utena snarled. You've never had to  
work a day in your life, she thought resentfully, but wouldn't  
say it out loud... too petty. You've never had to go without  
anything for lack of money, you've never had to work at a job  
you hated if you wanted to eat... "Don't you lecture me about  
responsibility."

Nanami gasped, and actually went pale. "I... I... I..." she  
stuttered, flustered. "Don't speak to me like that," she finally  
managed, utterly ineffectual.

"Stop it, both of you!" Juri's voice rang out like a bell,  
calm and cold and angry. "This accomplishes nothing. Nothing at  
all. What's past is past." She took a deep breath. "Utena, I'm  
sorry I couldn't tell you. I truly am."

"Couldn't tell me, or wouldn't?"

"Couldn't," Juri repeated firmly. "It was a matter of  
honour. I gave my word to obey the Rose Code when I became a  
Duellist. Would you have wanted me to go back on it?"

"No," Utena murmured. "No, I wouldn't. You're right." But  
the hurt was still there; no way it couldn't be. They'd all  
known, even before she'd... if only she'd known what he was  
before... She felt as though she were going to be ill. Beads of  
sweat stood out on her forehead like a brand. She wiped them  
away on her sleeve, and looked hesitantly towards Nanami.  
"Nanami, I'm sorry I spoke to you like that."

"Forgiven," Nanami said primly, making it clear that it  
wasn't. "And I'm sorry I couldn't tell you either. I tried to  
give you hints, but..." Utena almost believed her.

"I hardly knew you. I didn't really have any reason to  
tell you," Shiori muttered. Juri looked at her. "But I guess  
I'm sorry too." 

"So we're all sorry." Juri nodded to Utena. "Can you tell  
us, now?"

Utena nodded and licked her dry lips. "I'm sorry too. That  
I got so mad. It's just very hard for me to talk about this..."  
And you all have things to tell me too, she thought. Akio had  
shown them the ends of the world... what did that mean? Later,  
though.

"Don't worry about it." Juri waved her hand dismissively.  
"Just tell us what happened." She smiled slightly. "I'm curious  
to know."

"Well, after we entered the arena, Akio showed me the truth  
of it. I think. I still don't really understand it--one moment,  
we were in the arena, the next, we were in the Planetarium in his  
tower. As though the arena had never existed at all, like it had  
just been some sort of projection..."

Juri frowned. "That doesn't seem possible... I mean, we  
walked those stairs, rode that elevator... I sat on the ramparts  
and watched you duel through my lorgnette... how could something  
like that just be a projection?"

"He said that his projector created illusionary fairy-tales  
for those with naive wishes," Utena murmured. "But... this was  
Akio. He might have been lying. Actually, I'm sure he was  
lying, or at least not telling all of the truth. And after we  
began to duel, the arena started to come back." 

Not telling all of the truth... wasn't that what she was  
doing? She hadn't told them at all about how she'd hesitated to  
fight him, about how she'd worn her own pale variation on the  
Rose Bride's garb... Had his offer to her, to live in the castle  
as prince and princess, been a true one? If she'd said yes...

No. It had been a lie. Lies all along, from him. She had  
never been anything more than a tool to him, a heart made noble  
by his manipulations to open the doors to the power he craved  
with such desperate hunger...

"We dueled, and then..." She paused, trying to think of how  
best to phrase it. Not that there was any really subtle way.  
"Anthy stabbed me from behind, after Akio shoved her at me to  
distract me."

Juri blinked. "Himemiya... _stabbed_ you?"

"Yeah," Utena answered. Her scar gave a tiny throb.

"Never would have expected that from her," Juri commented  
thoughtfully. "She always seemed so gentle."

"Passive." Nanami shook her head. "Passive is the word.  
You push someone down long enough, eventually they either break  
beneath the weight, or they finally shove back." She frowned.  
"But I don't understand... why stab you? You were her friend.  
If she was going to stab anyone, she should have..." She trailed  
away. "Oh, never mind."

"Well, I always thought Himemiya--not that I knew her all  
that well, admittedly--seemed more like..." Shiori began, then  
went quiet at Utena's expression.

"Guys, please," Utena said edgily. "I spent enough time  
during the past seven years wondering about Anthy. I don't need  
to listen to you all psychoanalyzing her in front of me."

"But why did she do it?" Nanami asked in a small voice.

Utena sighed. "As near as I understand it, after Dios  
became Ends of the World something--maybe Anthy or maybe his own  
nature or maybe some higher power--sealed away his power behind  
the Rose Doors. Only a noble heart could open the Rose Doors;  
all the duels we fought were meant to find someone with a heart  
noble enough to open them, and allow Akio to regain the Power of  
Dios."

Juri frowned. "Why?" 

She sighed again, troubled by her lack of definite  
knowledge. "I don't know, to be honest. Revenge, maybe, or  
perhaps he's beyond that now. If I had to guess, he wanted to  
use the power to remake the world into a place like Ohtori--full  
of illusion and lies, under his control. But I don't know that  
for sure."

"A noble heart..." Nanami looked at Utena, almost  
fearfully. "Yours." 

"Not noble enough, in the end," Utena whispered. "Himemiya  
stabbed me because I wouldn't give up my sword--the one drawn  
from my heart--to Akio. He took it from me, and... well, this is  
where things began to get weird."

"Began?" Juri murmured incredulously.

You could ask to stop, Utena told herself. You've been  
talking for a while now. Have something to drink. Take a break.  
It's a lot to tell all at once. But now that she'd started to  
tell (the first time she'd talked about it in such detail, ever),  
the words didn't seem to want to stop, as though they were blood  
pouring from a new-torn wound. 

"Akio began to walk towards the Rose Doors, and then the  
swords came. A million swords, shining with human hatred--Akio  
said they came because of the sword drawn from me. I didn't  
really understand them; they had some connection to the people  
who stabbed Anthy in the past, because they kept on saying  
'witch'..." God, she remembered their voices vividly now, their  
horrible iron tongues, the gleam of their despite, Anthy pinioned  
high above... such awful memories. "But I don't really know. I  
think they wanted to kill Akio, but Anthy took his place... she  
was... hanging in the air above the arena, and it was like all of  
them, every single one of the million, was trying to pierce her  
body... there wasn't enough of her, of course..." She swallowed  
the lump in her throat. "Wasn't enough of her to go around. But  
they kept on circling and darting at her, building up into a wall  
around her, a prison..." A coffin. "Akio was trying to break  
open the Rose Doors with my sword, but it wasn't working. I  
guess, in the end, my heart just wasn't noble enough."

"And what were you doing at the time?" Shiori asked, almost  
snidely.

"Bleeding, mostly," Utena said half-flippantly, and looked at  
Shiori until the other woman looked away. Had she bled much?  
She should have, with a wound like that. "Things are kind of  
hazy for me. I was hurt pretty bad. The sword Akio was using--  
my sword--snapped." After the pain she'd felt each time Akio  
thrust or slashed at the Rose Doors, she'd expected to die when  
she heard the sound of the sword breaking, but it had seemed to  
give her strength. "Anthy was still in the air, although I  
couldn't see her any more... there were so many swords. I didn't  
really know what I was doing. Sometimes, I felt as though  
someone were talking to me, or telling me what to do... I got up  
and pushed past Akio, and was trying to open the Rose Doors with  
my bare hands. He just watched. I think it amused him, because  
he didn't believe I could do it. I thought... I thought if I  
could get to that power, I could free Himemiya from him."

They were all silent again. Waiting. She found herself  
unable to go on, though. There were no more words left.

"And you did it," Nanami unexpectedly said, wonderingly.  
"You opened the doors... you got the Power of Dios... and you  
freed her. That's why she left, right? That's why she could  
leave her brother."

"No," Utena said sharply. The words were back. "I mean,"  
she corrected, more gently, "that I don't know. One moment,  
there were the Rose Doors, and then there was a coffin, and the  
wall of swords that had surrounded Anthy began to shake... they  
moved away from where she'd been, but she wasn't there any more,  
and I knew she was in the coffin."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and let the rest of it  
come out in one long tide, like a shrieking wave of swords. "And  
I was trying to get her to take my hand, but she wouldn't or  
couldn't, and then finally she did, but it was too late, and the  
world broke apart, everything broke apart, and she was falling,  
and the swords were coming for me, and then--"

"What?" Nanami asked urgently. "What?"

"I don't remember after that," Utena admitted fearfully. "I  
don't know what happened to me. I just remember hearing the  
swords coming, and then there was..." Agony. Unbearable pain.  
"...darkness. I don't remember if I woke up in the hospital, or  
at another school, or maybe I was on a dark road in a dark  
forest, or in a rose-scented coffin... I don't know where I was  
or what I was or how long that went on. Maybe I was in Sapporo  
already, although I don't know why, or maybe Anthy and I went  
there... Anthy's the first thing I remember." A shining thing,  
like the light at the end of a long dark tunnel. "It's like the  
time right after my parents died. As though my memories are a  
few scattered jewels, bright upon black velvet... but the jewels  
don't all go together." She took another deep breath. "I don't  
really know. But that's how it happened for me. I think."

Everyone was very quiet. The room lay frozen as though  
below ice. Finally, someone spoke. Nanami.

"Did that all really happen?" she asked. A small voice.  
Child-like. 

Utena remembered her father reading a story to her. Did it  
all really happen like that, Daddy? Like what, Princess? The  
prince rescued the princess, and they both lived happily ever  
after; did that really happen? Well, maybe it didn't happen just  
like that, but it's true in a different way. What kind of way,  
Daddy? I'll tell you when you're older, Princess.

He never had, of course. Sometimes, she wondered if her  
parents would be proud of her; but only sometimes, and even then  
rarely.

"Utena, did it happen like that?" Nanami asked again.

"It happened like that for me," Utena replied softly. "I  
don't know about Anthy; never asked her. Or Akio. But that's  
how it was for me. I think."

"How interesting," Shiori commented. "As you explain it, it  
sounds both deeply symbolic and incredibly nonsensical at the  
same time."

"Well, yeah." Utena took a deep breath; she felt slightly  
embarrassed, and in danger of blushing. "I've never really tried  
to explain it to anyone before. So... do you understand now,  
more or less?"

"Akio used to be good, but then he fell into evil and his  
true power was sealed away." Nanami recited as though she'd  
learned it by rote. "He's trying to regain it, and if he does,  
that would be really, really bad."

Utena nodded, and resisted the urge to clap softly.

"So... you knew about this for seven years, and yet you let  
it lie there and fester?" Shiori asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Bad idea, I know," Utena admitted. "But... well, I  
just kind of assumed because Anthy never raised it, and she was  
the one who would have known..."

"That was foolish," Shiori said flatly.

"Really, Shiori, do you think she doesn't know that?"  
Nanami glanced dismissively at Shiori. "The last thing we need  
right now is pettiness, don't you think?"

"I agree completely." Shiori looked at the floor with  
false demureness. "That's advice we should _all_ take to heart,  
Nanami-san."

"Bigger and older feuds," Juri muttered, looking from Shiori  
to Nanami. "Bigger and older feuds."

"No, she's right," Utena said suddenly. "It was foolish;  
really foolish. I hardly even thought about things again until I  
read about that boy who was murdered--"

"We don't know it happened like that," Nanami snapped  
suddenly, fiercely. "That's just what the newspapers say!"

"The boy who was killed," Utena corrected casually. Not  
entirely true, what she'd said about hardly even thinking about  
about things; there were the dreams of her prince, after all,  
the ones that could so quickly become nightmares. Too private,  
too personal. "And didn't you have something to tell us about  
that, Nanami? We're all here, now."

Nanami nodded slowly, unwillingly, and began.

* * *

She got the phone call on a sultry sunny summer day that was  
unfortunately obscured by heavy rain. "Come for a picnic at the  
ends of the world," invited a voice neither male nor female.  
"You must bring one hot dish, and one cold dish, or you will not  
be allowed to sit at the blanket."

She finished her gardening and put her tools away in their  
rose-scented box, then rode her carousel horse into the landscape  
painting upon the bedroom wall. Within the painted world, she  
was a giant, and rode roughshod over foothills become molehills  
and pine trees the size of toothpicks. As she climbed the  
mountain, though, she and her horse grew smaller and smaller,  
until everything was the size it should have been. Her horse  
lay down and died at the base of the great cliffs, and she was  
forced to scale them by herself. At the top, she pulled herself  
up by clinging to the jagged rocks, and found the pleasant little  
cottage where the picnic would be held. 

When she tried the door, though, it was locked, and she had  
to knock many times, until quite suddenly the door opened,  
although no one was on the other side.

"You're just in time," her brother said. "Just in time for  
the picnic." He was stripped to the waist, dark chest slashed  
with sweat; he held his torn wrists over the mouth of the naked  
boy upon the blue blanket laid over the straw, who drank  
thirstily of the blood that trickled forth. "Come now; sit at  
the blanket. There's plenty of food for everyone."

She threw her arms up in fright, and screamed; the world  
broke apart like shattered stained-glass, but then she found she  
could not lower her arms again.

"I thought you said she was awake."

"She was."

"Look, she's coming around again."

*"Witch, witch, accursed witch..."*

Anthy opened her eyes, passing almost instantly from dream  
to waking. A dream? That was not right; she had power enough to  
choose always whether or not she wished to remember her dreams,  
and had chosen for years not to--

She shivered suddenly. Wherever she was, it was cold. A  
blurry darkness suffused her vision, her ears were full of a  
rushing howl like many winds, and her mouth felt packed with  
sticky-sweet cotton balls. The most immediate and vivid  
sensations were physical ones: hard wood against her back and  
buttocks, metal bands encircling her wrists and ankles to hold  
them fast to the arms and legs of the chair she was in. Her  
shoes had been removed--she could feel cold concrete beneath her  
bare feet--but the rest of her clothing was still in place.

Dim human shapes flitted around her, but it was impossible  
to put finer detail upon them than that. Three, four, perhaps  
more--again, it wasn't possible to tell. She seemed to be  
looking at everything through dark-beclouded waters.

A voice, half-remembered, difficult to hear through the  
rushing in her ears: "Leave us." Door opening, dim shapes  
departing, door closing.

"Leo?" The voice speaking did not seem to be her own; too  
childish, too weak.

"Then you remember me, bruja." He almost sounded pleased.  
"I wasn't sure you did. You looked at me with such confusion  
when we met again."

"I was remembering," she murmured. Vision and hearing were  
beginning to clear, but not completely. Fog seemed to have  
descended over all senses but touch: in contrast to sight and  
sound, the feel of the bands trapping her wrists and ankles was  
clear and almost painful, like a fine-bladed knife.

"Then you forgot me? Understandable; it was so long ago.  
It must be hard to keep track of all your victims, all those  
you've led astray for... how many years now, bruja? You don't  
look a day older, so I can't even begin to guess. I doubt I was  
the first or the last, though."

"No; I remembered you. I remember them all. It was just  
that I remembered what you meant... you meant more than most,  
Leo. To me, that is; nearly as much as..." She had to forcibly  
think about silencing herself before she gave away too much; her  
tongue felt like a loose, flopping thing; a dying fish upon bleak  
shores. Some effect of whatever drug they had--whoever they  
were--used to knock her out?

Leo said nothing, merely stood and continued to stare at  
her. She remembered his eyes vividly; so dark and intense,  
almost completely black. Youth's fire was long gone out, though,  
leaving only an icy pall of ashes; but, still, a cold burning  
hunched in that gaze like a sheathed weapon.

The silence seemed to rain blows upon her; again, it took a  
genuine effort of will to stop herself from babbling something,  
anything, in order to alleviate it. To distract herself, she  
looked around at the room. It wasn't much of a sight, really.  
Small, square, smooth cold bare concrete for walls and floor, a  
ceiling made of thick planks of unpainted wood. A single naked  
bulb for illumination, a little table in one corner. The chair  
she was in. And Leo Cano--the one that got away.

He'd aged well, but no one ever really aged well; he would  
be nearing seventy by now. In youth, he'd been a tall, slim,  
darkly handsome man; time had hammered that beauty away, leaving  
him still striking, but somehow unappealing. Perhaps it was  
merely that no invitation lay any longer for her in that  
handsomeness.

His old body looked to be in the best shape it could be;  
he'd undoubtedly lost mass with age, but what she could see of  
his arms were still powerful and slenderly muscled. Undoubtedly  
still capable of wielding a sword, of holding--

The atavistic fog seemed suddenly to lift; that was then,  
this was now. He had ambushed her, kidnapped her and strapped  
her into an uncomfortable chair in a bare concrete room. None of  
those acts exactly implied benign intentions.

She gave a motionless push that should have let her wrists  
and ankles slip through their manacles as though through cold  
water, and then real fear began to set in for the first time,  
because nothing happened. 

Horrific pain suddenly erupted at her wrists and ankles,  
flowed through her entire body, and snapped her spine rigid as a  
rod against the chair's hard back. She screamed, and the sound  
died as soon as it was born against the concrete walls.

"Interesting; it took you much longer than most to try it,"  
Leo said, empirically detached. "Most do it as soon as they wake  
up."

"Cold-forged iron," Anthy half-sobbed, not meaning to. Now  
that she knew what it was, it seemed to burn hatefully against  
her skin, even though the pain was gone.

Leo looked surprised. "Is that all it takes?"

No; but she wasn't going to tell him that. Something  
unconscious seemed to urge her to, though; it was a continual  
effort to resist it. 

Leo clasped his hands behind his back and walked a slow  
circle around the chair, gazing down at the floor; Anthy gazed  
too, and saw a rough circle of dampness upon the concrete, with  
scattered golden flakes within it. At one point, he stuck his  
foot out as though to mar some part of the circle, then drew it  
back. "No; experiments later. Questions now."

"Why have you done this, Leo?"

He laughed softly. "I had meant that I would be the one  
asking them, but I suppose it does no harm to answer you that; I  
am a hunter of witches, in the service of God and the Holy  
Church."

Anthy looked sadly at him. "Oh, Leo... what have you  
become?"

"What I should have been from the start." The ashes of his  
eyes seemed to smoulder. "A true servant of God and the Church.  
What I would have been, had not you and El Diablo led me astray."

"Leo--"

"You bewitched me," he snapped, cutting her off. "You and  
that hell-born thing you called your brother. I fought for you;  
I would have killed for you. And all that time, I was only your  
toy; what you took from me can never be restored." The pain and  
hate in his voice was almost unbearable. "Never."

"I am sorry for what pain I caused you," Anthy murmured.  
"For what pleasure, too, if that also has become pain for you."

"Pleasure? Sin is sin, no matter what lying words you  
clothe it in." He ran agitated hands through his shoulder-  
length white hair. "Enough of this; I know what you are doing.  
Trying to draw me into your web again like the unholy spider you  
are."

Anthy could find no words. Garbed though it was in the  
language of his faith--which seemed to have consumed entirely the  
man he had once been--there was truth enough in what he said. 

Leo; yet another one whom she should have mourned, but could  
not. There had been too many brought low by her in her service  
to Akio to do that. Face to face with one of them was so very  
far from detached contemplation, however; Leo had been strong and  
noble and brave in his youth... Akio and her had both had so much  
hope for him...

In the end, though, not brave enough. Or perhaps too  
bounden to the master narrative offered him by the Church, which  
forced him to shape all experiences to pre-forged moulds. A  
fallen angel and his sorcerous servant... it was not so very far  
from the truth.

Confronted by that, he had fled, and before they could  
decide what to do next, the revolution came--though not the one  
Akio wanted. Things had become far too unstable, and Akio hated  
that; for his webs to work properly, the day after had to be very  
much like the day before. 

She had never even thought of Leo Cano again. A way of  
survival, really; cut the losses, leave the bodies behind, and  
move on. No memory, no pain; every experience, pain and pleasure  
alike, going only skin-deep, leaving no trace behind.

"Look at me, bruja." Anthy shook her head and opened her  
eyes; she hadn't even realized that she'd closed them. Leo was  
standing almost right in front of her, just beyond the damp  
circle upon the floor; he appeared to have been speaking to her  
for some time without her realizing it.

"Listen to me now, for I will say this only once." His  
voice seemed to have softened a little; his eyes no longer  
smouldered as they had moments earlier. "You are human despite  
what you are, and thus your soul, while sinful as the souls of  
all mankind are sinful, is not by nature condemned to eternal  
damnation like that of the one you called brother."

He opened the top button of his shirt, and brought forth the  
small gold crucifix that hung from the chain around his neck.  
The precious metal gleamed in the harsh light of the room's  
single bulb; she remembered another crucifix of gold, shining in  
the light of a single candle beside the bed, in a small room;  
breeze blowing through an open window, fluttering curtains,  
bearing the sounds--voices speaking in Spanish, men and women  
laughing, strains of half a hundred musics--of the Havana night;  
he hung it round her neck, and it was cold against her naked  
breast; his lips brushed hers, once. "Querido."

None of it had meant anything to her. She had been the Rose  
Bride, then; merely a mirror for his own desires, except when her  
will was seized by Akio to work towards darker ends.

That was then; this was now. She shook herself free. Leo  
had loosely draped the golden chain over his fingers, letting the  
crucifix sway back and forth. "Your soul can still be saved," he  
said quietly, hopefully; perhaps even with a little kindness?  
Or... was that a rehearsed quality she detected, as though it  
were a speech long-practiced, made many times before? "If you  
sincerely repent of your sins and renounce the iniquity of your  
witchcraft and its offense to God--"

"Then what?" Anthy asked icily. "You'll imprison me for  
life instead of killing me?"

Leo closed his mouth; his eyes narrowed until it was almost  
impossible to see any details beyond dark pupils and irises. "So  
be it; if your concern for your flesh is greater than your  
concern for your soul, then so be it."

He whirled, stalked to the single thick wooden door of the  
room, put his hand upon the knob to open it, and then looked back  
at her. "You have information I need, and I will extract it by  
whatever means I must. I want to know where El Diablo is, where  
your familiar is, and where your apprentice is." He opened the  
door; Anthy could see a wood-panelled hallway beyond it. "I will  
return in an hour for your answers; it would be in your best  
interests to give them to me then, because you will assuredly  
give them to me eventually."

"Apprentice?" Anthy asked--but he was already gone out,  
slamming the door hard behind him.

* * *

"Tsuwabuki."

"What?"

Nanami huddled in the chair, gripping the arms as though she  
feared being hurled off it without some purchase. "Tsuwabuki's  
the one charged with the murder."

Utena blinked, tried to find words. "W-what?" she finally  
managed in a stunned voice. Juri looked equally shocked; Shiori  
less so, but she probably hadn't known Tsuwabuki very well, if at  
all.

"Touga didn't tell me much," Nanami continued, strain  
evident in her voice. "Just that... Tsuwabuki... Mitsuru... had  
been arrested for killing another boy in a duel. He said he  
wasn't really allowed to talk about it."

"Over a girl," Utena added. "The newspaper said it was a  
duel over a girl."

"He's trying to do it all over again," Juri said with a  
shudder. "The duels... he's trying to find another Duellist to  
bring the Revolution."

"Mitsuru," Nanami murmured. Her face was ashen.

"But... the duels were never supposed to be to the death,"  
Shiori said. She touched a finger to her mouth and bent her head  
down thoughtfully. "Has he raised the stakes, or something?"

Utena nodded. "Maybe. Or maybe without Anthy, without the  
Rose Bride, he can't do it properly."

"But if it was over a girl," Juri said, "couldn't there be a  
new Rose Bride? I mean, what are the qualifications--" She  
paused to laugh softly, humourlessly. "--for the job?"

"I don't know," Utena admitted. "Anthy... Anthy never  
wanted to talk about it. Ever. Akio could have acquired a new  
Rose Bride, maybe... or it might be that someone has to choose to  
become one. I really don't know."

"Call Anthy now, Utena."

Utena nodded uncomfortably, then stood and went into the  
kitchen. She dialed, and waited. The phone rang and rang and  
rang. Eventually, she hung up and walked back to rejoin the  
others. "Not home. I'll try later."

"So... what now?" Shiori asked. "We've got things out into  
the open."

Nanami put her hand up. "If we're going to go to Ohtori, I  
need to go home and pack."

"We're all decided, then?" Juri looked around at the other  
three women. "Utena, I know you are... Shiori? Nanami? Back to  
Ohtori?"

"Back to Ohtori," Nanami murmured. Shiori merely nodded.

"Touga," Utena said. "We need to decide what to do about  
him."

Everyone turned their gazes on Nanami, who almost squirmed  
beneath them. "I know you probably won't believe me," she  
half-whispered, hugging her arms around herself. "I bet you were  
all talking about it before I came. 'Can we trust Nanami?'"

Utena couldn't stop herself from flinching; Nanami noticed,  
and laughed softly. "What can I say that will make a difference,  
really? You'll believe me, or you won't. I remember now...  
everything. My brother was Akio's right-hand man; not a pawn,  
not an unwitting puppet... he probably knew better than anyone  
before Utena duelled for the last time what Akio was, and he  
didn't even care."

"No," Utena said suddenly. "No... I don't think it was like  
that... near the end, he..."

The other three turned their attention to her, and she  
trailed off, embarrassed, before picking up again in a calmer  
voice. "I don't think Touga knew what Akio really was. Akio  
used him just like he used everyone else... maybe Touga was more  
willing than most, but..."

Juri arched an eyebrow speculatively. "And you think this  
because?"

"I just do," Utena mumbled. "I have a feeling."

Nanami was glaring concealed daggers at her, while Shiori  
just looked confused. "Anyway," Utena hurriedly said, "we'll  
have to be careful about Touga, but he isn't the focus. To kill  
a snake, you cut off its head, and Akio's the head."

"It's a lot easier to cut the head off if the snake's  
missing half its body," Juri said, with an almost frightening  
coldness; even Shiori looked a little uncomfortable.

"Juri!" Nanami snapped. "Don't ever talk like that again!  
If you're suggesting--"

"And if Touga's still Akio's right hand?" Juri said calmly,  
turning her head to look Nanami square in the eye. "What then?"

"We'll cross that bridge as we come to it," Utena said  
quickly. "We don't know anything definite yet."

Nanami took out something from her blouse pocket and  
weighed it up and down in her hands, silent and sad.

"Is that the Rose Signet Touga gave you, Nanami?" Utena  
asked. 

Nanami nodded. "Do you... could you keep it, Utena? I  
think we might need it, but... I don't want it. I don't even  
want it near me."

Utena blinked, surprised. "Sure, if you want me to."

The blond walked over and handed the ring to Utena; their  
fingers brushed fleetingly, a contact broken by Nanami as soon as  
possible. Even touching the Rose Signet made Utena's scar throb,  
an ache echoed by the bruise Nanami's punch had left on her  
cheek earlier in the day. She tucked the ring away in her  
side pocket, where it lay like a cold, hard stone against her  
thigh.

Juri got up and walked halfway towards the kitchen before  
pausing and looking back. "When are we going to want to leave?"

"Do you think there's time to get an evening flight?" Utena  
asked.

Juri nodded. "I can try."

"Don't forget to call and cancel your photo shoot on  
Tuesday, Juri," Shiori said quietly.

"Photo shoot?" Utena, momentarily confused, suddenly  
remembered an obscure detail. "Oh; you're still modelling."

Juri shrugged. "It pays the bills," she said with mock  
humility.

"Plus, she gets to keep the clothes," Shiori said. "Now if  
only she'd wear them more."

"They're too fancy for everyday wear," Juri retorted,  
shrugging again. She tugged at the loose collar of her  
turtleneck. "Besides, I prefer being comfortable most of the  
time."

"Juri-san is quite well-known in the fashion circles,"  
Nanami commented to Utena. "She's been in all the magazines."

"I don't read fashion magazines," Utena said. She knew  
Anthy did sometimes, and wondered if she'd ever seen any photos  
of Juri. Probably; but she wouldn't have pointed them out, of  
course. What a shell the two of them had lived in for those  
seven years. Hardly better than those who couldn't remember  
anything at all.

Juri went into the kitchen, presumably to arrange flights,  
possibly to cancel photo shoots. Nanami stood up and stretched,  
catlike, then headed for the door. "I'll be back once I get my  
things in order. Ta-ta until then."

"Bye, Nanami." The front door closed, and Utena was alone  
in the living room with Shiori.

Only for a moment, though, as it turned out. "I'm going to  
go get the swords ready." Shiori rose and went to the bedroom,  
closing the door behind her.

Utena shifted in the chair to get more comfortable, and  
leaned down to look at Chu-Chu--who was still asleep. "Hey, are  
you going to nap all day or what?" She picked up the snoring  
animal and held him on her lap. "This has been going pretty well  
so far, hasn't it?" she said, nominally to Chu-Chu, but really to  
herself. "Better be careful; can't get too confident just  
because things have been going my way so far."

She got up, placing Chu-Chu on the chair she'd formerly  
occupied, and went to where she'd left her gym bag beside the  
couch. She unzipped the bag and pulled out the rapier she'd  
taken from Saionji's shop the night before. When she unsheathed  
it, the blade gleamed like a mirror, reflecting a haggard but  
determined face with a circular bruise on one cheek. 

Utena took a deep breath, tossed the sheath onto the couch,  
and stepped into a duelling stance. She made a few tentative  
thrusts and parries, feeling much more self-conscious and  
uncertain than she had when she'd last tried to handle a sword in  
the darkened showroom of the antique shop.

As it turned out, with good reason.

"Your grip is all wrong; the blade's far too high. And  
placing your feet like that won't let respond quickly enough to  
an attack from the side."

"This is the way I always did it at Ohtori," Utena murmured,  
flushing a little and turning to look at where Juri leaned  
against the archway separating kitchen and living room.

Juri nodded, frowning a little. "I know, and it was always  
a miracle that you won at all, given that. You only beat Miki  
the first time because Himemiya distracted him, and you would  
have lost to me the first time we fought except for being  
incredibly lucky." She grimaced a bit at the memory. "If I  
hadn't been stupid and spent all that time playing with you at  
the start, things might have turned out differently than they  
did."

"And if you'd taken one more step forward after you disarmed  
me," Utena replied uncomfortably, "you might have taken the Sword  
of Dios right through the back."

"I might have, at that." Juri looked pensively at Utena,  
then shrugged. "Well, things happened as they happened."

"Am I... really that bad?" Utena asked hesitantly.

"You're an amateurish fencer, that's for certain," Juri said  
bluntly. "Plus, you've undoubtedly got all kinds of bad habits  
ingrained in you from fighting all those duels without proper  
training. Looking at it in hindsight, I have no idea how you  
were able to win for so long."

Utena hung her head, suddenly feeling extremely unprincely.

"On the other hand," Juri continued in a warmer tone of  
voice, "you're in superb shape, and you're a natural athlete.  
Getting rid of the bad habits is the first part." She nodded.  
"I think one of my older suits will fit you, though it may be a  
bit baggy around the chest."

"What?"

"Shiori," Juri called, "Utena and I are going up on the  
roof for a little while." 

"...the roof?"

* * *

"It's c-cold up here."

"Well, of course it is; we're twenty stories above the  
streets, so the altitude's a factor, and we don't have smaller  
buildings for windbreaks."

Utena looked around the concrete roof of Juri's highrise  
apprehensively. "Juri-sempai, there's _snow_ up here."

Juri nodded. "The thaws usually don't catch it all this  
high up."

In addition to the scattered patches of snow, numerous large  
outtake pipes belched steaming fog, a product of the building's  
heating system, from their vents. Excepting them, the low-lipped  
rooftop was almost featureless.

"Are we actually allowed up here?" Utena asked, puffing and  
stamping her feet to warm herself. "How did you get the key to  
get up here, anyway?" She glanced back at the door leading back  
to the stairwell they'd had to climb from the top floor to reach  
the roof.

"I've got an arrangement with the owners to use the roof for  
practice," Juri explained. "That's why I have an access key."

Utena stamped her feet some more, and shivered all the same.  
Juri's older fencing suit had indeed fitted well enough--they  
were about the same height--although it was indeed loose in  
certain places. Unfortunately, it wasn't very warm. "Are you  
sure I couldn't have worn a jacket over this?"

Juri, who did not look at all discomfited in her own suit  
despite the cold, shook her head. "Too cumbersome."

"Fights don't always take place under ideal conditions,"  
Utena argued.

"But practice should," Juri said shortly. "How did you  
survive living in Sapporo for seven years if you can't take a  
little cold?"

"I was allowed to wear a jacket when I went out," Utena  
muttered. 

Juri put the bag with the two foils down on a bare patch  
of concrete, and began to do stretching exercises. "Come on,  
start warming up. Get your blood moving; you won't feel so cold,  
then."

Utena started on alternating toe-touches in imitation of  
Juri, breath frosting the air before her as she bobbed up and  
down. "Did you manage to get us a flight, Juri?"

"I called my travel agent," Juri replied. "She'll look into  
it and call back."

"You have a travel agent?"

"I sometimes have to fly out to other places to do photo  
shoots."

They stretched in silence for a few moments longer, and then  
changed to arm exercises. "Does modelling pay well?" Utena asked  
while stretching her left arm behind her back with her right hand  
on the elbow.

Juri, with left hand on right elbow, nodded. "Quite well.  
Why? You want to get into it?" She said the last bit rather  
teasingly, and continued on that note. "You could, you know;  
you've got the looks and the body."

"I think I'd be too embarrassed," Utena said uncomfortably.  
"All those cameras and lights."

"After we kill Akio," Juri said lightly, "I'll put you in  
contact with my agent."

Utena paused in her stretching and stared at the ground.

"Sorry," Juri said after a moment. "Not the kind of thing  
to joke about. I do that sometimes, when I'm uncomfortable with  
something; make it into a joke, try to make myself believe it  
doesn't matter as much as it really does... sorry."

"It's all right," Utena said quietly. "I... I don't really  
like the idea of doing it either. But..."

"Some things have to be done," Juri murmured as Utena's  
voice trailed away. She began to do lunge stretches, pushing her  
unbent leg out far behind her as she did each one. "It's not a  
matter of liking it."

"I don't think you should have said what you did about Touga  
in front of Nanami." Utena hesitated to the point where she  
almost didn't say it, but finally did, not really knowing why.  
"About cutting the snake's body."

To her surprise, Juri nodded. "Yes; that was too far.  
Touga and I... well, after what happened between him and Shiori  
in his last year, the two of us didn't exactly part on good  
terms. And if he is working for Akio still, in the same way he  
did before..." She clenched her fist. "As far as I'm concerned,  
that makes him almost as bad as Akio."

Juri had been right about the stretching; Utena hardly even  
noticed the cold now, and even her mind seemed to be working  
quicker. "If Touga is the Knight of Pentacles, he moves fast; he  
was back in Houou in time to get Nanami's phone call this  
afternoon."

"You were here a few hours before that, and you only left  
Sapporo this morning," Juri pointed out, and began to do jumping  
jacks.

Utena, following Juri's lead, had to alternate speech with  
deep breaths as her arms and legs scissored open and closed.  
"That's true... he could have... left yesterday... evening."

Juri nodded in mid-jump, causing her curls to bounce even  
more wildly. "What makes me... dubious is... that if it... was  
Touga... then he's capable... of surviving... a ten-story fall."

Utena stopped jumping and pushed her bangs out of her eyes.  
"Any other suspects you can think of?"

"None more likely than Touga," Juri said, stopping as well.  
"I think that's enough warming up. Do you feel ready?"

Utena nodded. "Yeah."

Juri opened the bag and handed her a foil. Utena took it  
and stepped back, testingly flourishing the flexible, button-  
tipped fencing blade. "Hey, do you think we should try and get  
in touch with Miki?"

As before, the mention of Miki caused a sad expression to  
fall upon Juri's face. "We should. I don't know what he's  
doing, though, or where he is..." 

"Nanami might," Utena suggested. "I'll ask her when she  
comes back."

Juri nodded, apparently glad to close the subject.  
"Anyway," she said, brandishing her own foil, "let's get  
started." She reached into the bag, tossed Utena a wire-mesh  
mask to protect her face, and then put on her own mask. 

"Show me what to do, sempai," Utena said, only half-  
playfully.

"First of all, stance... your feet are a little too close  
together... no, not that far apart. Grip the hilt a little  
looser... too loose; that's better. Tilt your blade down a  
little... and remember, watch my hand, not my sword. En garde!"

Utena lunged forward with a sharp battle cry; Juri batted  
the attack away with a quick twist of her wrist, and Utena was  
forced to backstep to avoid Juri's short, rapid counter-thrust.

"Too aggressive," Juri commented. She thrust again,  
snapping back from it as Utena awkwardly parried and was driven  
back another step. "You leave yourself too open when you  
attack."

They circled each other, Utena warily, Juri poised and  
assured. Foils clashed once, twice; Utena pressed forward, and  
Juri casually drove her back.

"This isn't even hard for you, is it?" Utena asked morosely.

Juri shook her head. "Not really." Utena sighed, and half-  
wished that the mesh face-mask didn't make seeing Juri's  
expression impossible. She couldn't bear the possibility of  
contempt or condescension there.

At Utena's next thrust, Juri slapped the foil down hard,  
until its tip nearly touched the ground, and poked Utena in the  
chest before she could recover or backstep.

"Again," Juri said, stepping back and saluting with her  
foil before pulling her mask off. "Don't get discouraged. I've  
been fencing since I could hold a sword, and I doubt you've had  
any swordplay at all in the past seven years."

"I don't understand it," Utena muttered, slumping back  
against the warm surface of one big outtake pipe and dropping her  
foil to the ground. She removed her mask and used it to fan her  
hot, sweaty face. "I mean, I'm out of practice, but... in the  
Duelling Arena, I always felt like I knew what I was doing, at  
least. I don't feel like that now. At all."

"Oh?"

"When I duelled at Ohtori, I felt like I was filled up with  
power." Utena struggled to explain in words what was, to her,  
still quite inexplicable. "And the harder things got, the more I  
had that power..." She gestured helplessly with one hand towards  
the bright winter sky. "I'd get pushed to the wall, and then I'd  
suddenly feel this incredible strength... and I'd win."

"True character does only emerge in the most desperate of  
times," Juri said thoughtfully. "And you've never felt like that  
since?"

"Not until recently. When I fought the Knight, right near  
the end... right before I tossed him out the window. I got my  
hands on his wrist... I don't know how much you know about judo,  
but it's almost all about leverage. I didn't have any; I was  
practically lying on the floor. But when I put my hands on him,  
I knew that I could have torn his arm off. That was how strong I  
felt."

"You do judo?"

"Karate, too. I took them at the rec centre."

Juri chuckled, then walked over and put her hand on Utena's  
shoulder. "Listen, Utena... remember what Shiori said. Swords  
may have been the requisite back in the old days, but we're not  
playing by Akio's rules any longer. If you have to fight, fight  
with what you know best."

"Am I that unteachable, then?" Utena sighed glumly.

Juri squeezed her shoulder warmly. "Did I say that? Pick  
your foil up, and let's try it again."

Their eyes met for a moment; Juri smiled at her, lips  
parting slightly to reveal small white teeth. Utena, suddenly  
flustered and a little embarrassed, stepped away, letting Juri's  
hand slip from her shoulder. 

She knelt and retrieved her foil. "Thank you, Juri-sempai."

"You don't need to call me Juri-sempai, you know," Juri  
said softly, a little wistfully. "That's past, now."

"All right. Juri. Let's try it again." Utena slipped her  
mask back on and stepped back into a ready position. 

As Juri raised her hand to her mask to do the same, a voice  
interrupted:

"Let me fight her." Shiori stood in the doorway leading  
back down to the building proper, suited up for fencing with  
foil and mask in hand. The eagerness in her voice made Utena  
slightly nervous.

* * *

A half-hour had already gone by, or so Anthy estimated. Her head  
still felt foggy from whatever they'd drugged her with; on two  
occasions, she'd drifted off into warm, dreamy sleep for a few  
short seconds, only to snap awake moments later to the cold  
concrete reality of her tiny prison.

She did a little thinking, at those times when her mind felt  
clear enough. Soon enough, Leo would come back, and the  
questioning would begin. She had no illusions about what his  
methods would be. Whatever answers she gave, she would not leave  
his hands alive if he had his way.

A hunter of witches... How had she ever thought she could  
leave her past behind merely by breaking free from Akio? 

El Diablo; that would be his name for Akio. Appropriate.  
The cloistered silence of the room kissed her lips, and she  
floated briefly into the safe entombment of sleep. Cold iron  
chafing her wrists snapped her awake. Her familiar; Chu-Chu,  
of course. She tried to see if friction would let her slip her  
wrists free, but the bands were far too tight.

Apprentice? Utena, undoubtedly. How long had he been  
watching them? He did not do this alone; had they followed  
Utena, and somehow lost track of her? Good. Utena was going  
back into the dragon's lair, and she didn't need a wolf pack on  
her heels.

Had it been merely a matter of Akio, she would have given  
Leo his location in an instant. Let Akio destroy him; the world  
would be better off for it. But Utena complicated things too  
much...

Torture could be endured; admittedly, without her power, she  
had no channel through which to funnel the pain, but she could  
endure. And dying did not frighten her; for what reason had she  
left the coffin of the Rose Bride behind other than to become  
mortal, to leave behind that deathless pain?

Utena, of course; it all came back to Utena. Leo would have  
to torture her to death without getting any information because  
she had to keep Utena out of his hands. Utena had been willing  
to die for her; she could do no less.

So many more questions, but the haze lay over everything  
except the sharp physical pain of the chair's hard back and the  
icy hate of the cold-forged iron bands that lay in wait for her  
to use her power again. How long had Leo been doing this? Her  
impression was a long time; why had it taken him so long to find  
her? And how was it that he had come to find her now? Mere  
coincidence, or...

So cold; she hated being cold. She wished she were warm,  
instead; in the summer, she and Utena sometimes went camping.  
They'd toast marshmallows around the fire, and then crawl into  
their sleeping bags inside their small tent. Never cold there.

"I'm sorry, Utena," she sobbed, beginning to cry. All her  
feelings felt loose and out of control, like newborn foals trying  
to find their footing. Anger, sorrow, despair, so  
overwhelming... "I should have come with you, but I was scared.  
I l--"

Slip down again into comforting half-oblivion, so that when  
the shadows began to move upon the walls in ways disallowed by  
the light she did not know whether she was waking or dreaming.  
Sharp-defined human shadows without human bodies to cast them,  
slipping and sliding across the walls and over one another like  
whispering leaves.

do you wonder, do you know... do you wonder what i know?  
asked one. Vague laughter, diffuse as sunlight on water.  
what do you know? They laughed again, an ageless laughter of  
eternal children.

once there  
was a prince  
ss who lay in bondage  
to a terrible dragon,  
who kept her prisoner  
in a high tower. (An  
d one shadow formed a  
tower with what might  
have been hands, and  
another formed a prin  
cess weeping atop it,  
and the high vague la  
ughter echoed in a pl  
ace where echoes coul  
d not exist)

"That tower is crooked," Anthy chided them. "There's no way  
it can stand up."

one day a prince came riding out of the east  
upon a horse bedecked with roses

(wood blocks striking together to sound the sound of  
hooves, a shadowy rider upon a shadowy horse)

'i shall rescue you' the prince cried, and raised his bright  
sword. the prince and the dragon 

(a dragon appeared now, made also of shadows, vast  
beyond imagining, too vast to fit within the tiny  
room, so, of course, she had to be dreaming)

fought a terribly l o n g battle. at last, the prince  
raised his sword to deliver the killing blow. suddenly, the  
princess appeared behind him, and embraced him with arms like  
lilies.

(the prince, the princess, the dragon, all before the tower)

'rest, my prince' she said, and stabbed him with her knife.

'why... why?' the prince cried out, sin  
king  
down  
to  
die

(shadowy blood on a shadowy knife, laughter that grates like  
rusty iron)

'i like living with the dragon,' the princess replied. 'he  
keeps away annoying princes like you. Your kisses are all  
sloppy, and they ruin my lipstick.'

the dragon and the princess walked off into the sunset  
together to live happily ever after. 

'come back!' the prince cried. 'this wound will not kill  
me! i shall lie never dying, unless you shall wound me again,  
and give me the peace of death.'

the princess laughed (a high sharp laugh like a long blade)  
and left him there.

what happens to princes that lie wounded but undying? one  
shadow asked.

vell, replied a second (a doctor's bag of shadow, a truly  
hideous attempt at an accent somewhere between Austrian and  
Russian), two situations there are. the vound vill either heal  
klean, or it vill fester.

oh my! cried a third. and if it festers?

no tellink. every vound festers in itz own partikular vay.

but will the wound fester or heal, doctor do you know?

do you wonder? do you know? do you wonder what I know?

Anthy started as though snapping awake, and, suddenly, the  
shadows were gone. There was only her, the chilly cement of the  
room, the hard chair, the cold iron bands, and the opening door.

* * *

"Begin!" Juri slashed her foil down through the air.

Shiori took a defensive stance and waited. Utena feinted at  
Shiori's chest, then thrust at the sword-arm shoulder with her  
true attack. The older woman, intimidatingly anonymous in suit  
and mask, stepped aside to avoid, and Utena was nearly tagged in  
the ribs as she pulled back against the momentum of her thrust to  
avoid becoming off balance.

The foils slapped hard against each other at their next  
pass. Beneath her mask, Utena's breath came hot and heavy; her  
adrenaline was racing. Shiori jabbed at her, and she parried  
easily upon the forte of her blade. She smiled. 

As the fight went on, Utena began to see that Shiori, while  
a technically skilled fencer, simply didn't have the same kind of  
drive that Juri did. Her style was almost mechanistic; perfectly  
assured, but utterly predictable.

When Shiori attacked again, Utena duplicated the move Juri  
had used to defeat her in their match, slapping down Shiori's  
foil and scoring a quick hit on her side.

"Point to Utena." Juri's foil cut upwards. "Again!" Cut  
down.

This time, Shiori came on aggressively from the start,  
pressing Utena hard, not allowing any chance for counterattack.  
Utena calmly waited until Shiori minutely overextended herself on  
one thrust, then aimed a blow at her opponent's stomach.

Shiori abruptly turned her foil in her hands and caught  
Utena a whipping blow across her sword-hand wrist with the  
foible of her blade. Even through the thick gloves, it stung  
painfully; Utena cried out, and her fingers loosed involuntarily.  
The foil dropped from her hands; Shiori moved slightly sideways  
and tagged Utena in the chest, right over her heart.

"Point to Shiori," she said. Utena could almost hear the  
smirk in her voice.

"That wasn't a legal move, Shiori," Juri chided. "You know  
that."

"Are we trying to teach her how to duel effectively, Juri,  
or to fence by the books?" Shiori asked softly, almost  
condescendingly.

"Shiori--" Juri began.

"Shiori-san is right," Utena said, pulling off her sword-  
hand glove and wincing as she looked at the already-risen red  
welt. "We don't have time for this. Just show me how to be as  
effective as possible, given the limitations you've got for  
training me."

Juri looked uncomfortable for a moment, then slowly nodded.  
"All right. I suppose Shiori does have a point. Just be  
careful."

"We will," Shiori assured. "Ready to go again, Utena?"

Utena slipped her glove back on and picked up her foil.  
"Ready."

They faced off again. The still-stinging welt upon Utena's  
hand threatened to make her lose her calm; why was Shiori so  
hostile? They'd barely even spoken to each other at Ohtori after  
Shiori had transferred back, and the conversations they had had  
been pleasant, to her memory.

"Begin!"

A deep bass rumble that seemed to shake the ground beneath  
their feet echoed across the roof; Utena almost stumbled, and  
glanced about warily. "What was that?"

"It just means they've turned the heat up in the building,"  
Shiori explained, raising her foil. "You can really hear it up  
here because we're so close to the outtake vents. En garde!"

Their foils slashed and beat at the air between them,  
wove intricate patterns as they circled back and forth and  
sought holes in each other's defense through which to slip a  
hit. Utena's heart beat loud and hard in her chest, a painful  
pleasure; all the formality was gone now, and Shiori was  
revealing herself to be a much more enthusiastic duellist than a  
fencer.

Turning up the heat had the effect of increasing the size  
and density of the clouds of warm fog emanating from the dozen  
or so big vents thrusting up from the ground around them. The  
area they'd been fighting in had been clear before, but now the  
vapours began to drift all around them, obscuring eyesight and  
turning Shiori into a vague dancer in the mist. Juri had  
disappeared from Utena's sight altogether.

Shiori's blade seemed to come from nowhere, tearing through  
the fog towards Utena in a thrust aimed seemingly straight at her  
face. She leapt to the side, and her back collided heavily with  
the metal surface of an outtake pipe, which had become hot enough  
that it was painful even through the thick cloth of the fencing  
suit.

"I've got you now!" Shiori cried jubilantly; her foil  
slashed down at Utena's neck, whistling with speed of its  
whipping motion. Utena ducked and rolled aside, heard the blunt  
blade ring on the pipe as she came back to her feet and thrust  
hard in Shiori's direction.

No hit; the fog was everywhere this close to the pipe,  
making it hard to see even beyond her own body. She tried to  
listen for footsteps, but the deafening grinding of the vents  
emitting murdered all other sounds. Her hair clung damply to her  
face and neck, soaked with sweat and vapour.

A flash of movement to her right; she spun, slashing with  
her blade. She knew enough of foil fencing to know that only  
thrusts were allowed normally, but they weren't playing by those  
rules now. That had been Shiori's decision.

The foil made contact, and a high scream of pain rewarded  
Utena. That's for my wrist, she thought perversely, and then  
realized it wasn't Shiori who had screamed.

"J-Juri-sempai?" 

A gust of wind swirled the fog around her away, and she saw  
Juri, grimacing with pain and clutching her right bicep. Her  
hair looked half again as long due to uncurling from contact with  
the steam. "It's too dangerous to fight in this much fog," she  
hissed, tears of pain in her eyes. "I've never seen it get this  
thick before. I'm worried one of you is going to go over the lip  
of the roof. Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"N-no. Juri-san, I'm sorry--"

"Shiori!" Juri yelled; the fog banks circled and spun with  
the cold wind blowing all around them, growing only thicker as  
the rumbling of the powerful machines heating the entire highrise  
increased in volume. "Shiori, where are you?" Utena was almost  
certain she could feel the ground shaking. "SHIORI!"

Shadow in the mist, leaping forward, weapon raised high--

Utena shoved Juri aside and caught Shiori's descending blow  
against the basket hilt of the foil. Out of the corner of her  
eye, she saw Juri stumble, slip on a patch of half-melted snow,  
and go down hard.

"Shiori, stop it!" Utena cried, retreating and desperately  
parrying Shiori's flurrying blows. "That's enough! It's too  
dangerous." Juri was on her knees, clutching her left ankle and  
wincing. "Juri is--"

"Juri is _mine_," Shiori whisperingly snarled, almost  
inaudible to Utena, which meant that Juri certainly couldn't hear  
it. She pressed Utena further back, attacks coming so vicious  
and so fast that Utena could do nothing but defend. "You hear  
me? She's mine." They vanished into a bank of fog together,  
putting Juri again out of sight. "You're not going to take her  
away from me!"

"What are you talking about? Shiori, stop!"

"You think you can just come along..." With the mask on, it  
was impossible to tell for sure, but Utena thought Shiori might  
be crying. "...after seven years..." A hard sideways slash  
nearly tore the foil from Utena's hands. "...and... and..."

Utena's back hit the waist-high lip of the roof. 

For a moment, she teetered; Shiori's blade fell like a  
hammer. Utena parried it just below the foible; their blades  
slid together, locked at the hilts. Both hands on the handle  
of her foil, Utena's muscles ached with strain as she tried to  
prevent Shiori from overbalancing her any further, and quite  
possibly toppling her off the roof.

"Shiori, STOP!" Juri's voice rang out harsh as a gunshot as  
she hobbled out of the mists. "My God, what are you doing?"

All the strength and ferocity left Shiori in an instant;  
Utena shoved her aside as though she were a child. The older  
woman stumbled, then fell to her knees and tossed her foil aside.  
She tore her mask off and hurled it to the ground; her face was  
streaked with tears and sweat.

Utena dropped her foil and sank, gasping, to her hands and  
knees. She removed her mask, and pantingly sucked breaths of  
cool winter air. The grinding had stopped being audible, and the  
fog had started to disperse. "Shiori--"

Juri was already at Shiori's side, face bleak and angry.  
"What was that all about, Shiori? Do you still think you've got  
something to prove? We _talked_ about this. Don't you have any  
sense of..." Juri trailed off as Shiori raised her head and  
glared bitterly at Utena.

"Why did you have to come back?" she snarled, half-choked  
with crying. "Everything was perfect until you came."

"Shiori... Juri..." Utena looked from one woman to the  
other, mouth open and eyes wide. "I don't under--" Then, quite  
suddenly, she did. Tenjou Utena, she told herself silently, you  
are still about the most naive person I know.

Juri had taken off her gloves, and was gently wiping the  
tears from Shiori's face with one hand. Shiori gazed at the  
ground now, resolutely avoiding any sight of Utena.

"Shiori-san," Utena said gently. "I didn't come to take  
anyone away from anyone; don't--"

"That's enough, Utena," Juri said icily. "You don't have to  
try and justify yourself to her." She dug into her pocket, and  
tossed Utena a keyring. "Go back to the apartment, Utena. We'll  
be back as soon as we sort things out."

"Juri--"

"Please." Juri closed her eyes, looking very much as though  
she were going to start crying herself. "Have a shower; get  
yourself cleaned up. We'll be back soon."

Utena got weakly to her feet, picking up her foil and mask  
as she did. She walked through the last vestiges of the vapour  
clouds, knees almost quaking. At the doorway leading back to the  
stairwell, she could not stop herself from looking back. Juri  
and Shiori sat in exactly the same positions as before, unmoving  
as two statues.

* * *

Few things, Utena decided, were so pleasurable as a hot shower  
after a stressful day. Steaming water ran in rivulets down her  
naked body, carrying the dirt and detritus of the day down the  
drain. She sighed happily, soaped herself up from head to toe,  
and then washed herself down beneath the spray. 

"Heaven," she murmured, almost managing to forget everything  
that had happened in the last day or so. But not quite. 

Eyes closed, she examined the wounds of the day with her  
hands: a tender bruise on one cheek from Nanami's fist, tiny  
lacerations on her neck from Nanami's nails, the red welt from  
Shiori's foil on her right wrist. Lower down, she found the  
raised tissue of the scar--but that was an old wound, not really  
requiring any attention right now.

Juri and Shiori seemed to have about a dozen different kinds  
of shampoo between them, all lined up in a row on the lintel  
shelf of the fogged-glass doors of the shower. Herbal or floral?  
If herbal, what kind of herbal? The same question if floral.

She closed her eyes again and pointed randomly.

"All-Organic Tea Rose Scent," she muttered sourly as she  
looked at her choice. "Of course." But she took the bottle down  
anyway, poured a measure of it into her palm, and thoroughly  
worked it into her hair and scalp. She noticed absently the  
bothersome presence of a good deal of split ends, one of the  
hazards of having hair as long as hers. It was really time to  
get it shortened a little... Anthy had always cut her hair back  
in Sapporo... had been pretty good at it too... saved money...  
she'd never needed to do the same for Anthy, whose hair was  
always unbelievably perfect...

God, did she ever miss Anthy.

She washed the shampoo from her hair, then gave herself a  
final total-body rinse to rid herself of any last traces of soap  
or shampoo. Made melancholy by the thought of Anthy, she stepped  
out of the shower feeling relaxed in body, if not in mind, and  
dried herself off with a fluffy white bathtowel. She changed  
into the fresh clothes--long black slacks tapered towards the  
ankles and a long-sleeved red button-up shirt--she'd left on the  
rack on the door, and bundled up the old clothes discarded on the  
floor beneath one arm.

Back in the living room, she sat down on the couch, tilted  
her head to the side so that her hair fell over one shoulder, and  
began to brush it.

Juri and Shiori still weren't back yet. They were starting  
to become almost as worrisome to her plans as Nanami; things  
obviously weren't going to be as easy as they'd seemed upon the  
surface. Well, Shiori had nothing to worry about--she had no  
interest in Juri at all, in... that way. None at all; Shiori was  
just insanely jealous and possessive.

She winced a bit as the hairbrush bristles caught a tangle,  
and looked over at the chair where Chu-Chu still slept. "Hey,  
Chu-Chu, are you ever going to wake up?" Snores were her only  
answer. "I guess maybe being away from your mistress like this  
makes you sleepy, huh?" She'd long ago realized that Chu-Chu  
wasn't a normal animal; too intelligent, too ageless, and just  
too strange, to be one. Anthy had never told her anything of  
significance about him, though, and she'd never had the courage  
to ask. Some connection undoubtedly existed between them beyond  
a mere pet-owner relationship, but Utena wasn't sure what.

Another tangle; she winced again. Wasn't Anthy supposed to  
be some sort of witch? Or she had been. But witches were  
supposed to have cats or frogs or ravens or something similiar  
for pets; not strange little monkey-things.

You were supposed to know these kinds of things about  
someone you lived with for seven years. Hey Anthy, just what  
exactly _is_ Chu-Chu, anyway? How hard would that have been,  
really?

Then again... how much had she ever talked to Anthy about  
her past? Did they ever talk about her parents, the life she led  
before Ohtori? Not really. Some sort of unspoken agreement not  
to dwell upon the past, to live in the present and for the  
future?

Except sometimes, the past came back, and threatened to eat  
the future alive.

"Nothing buries itself," she murmured. Her hair was shining  
and smooth now; she gathered it in one hand and flipped it so  
that it hung straight down her back, then put her hairbrush away  
in her bag. "Hey, Chu-Chu, think your mistress is home yet?" No  
answer. She leaned over him and poked him lightly. "Chu-Chu?"  
Without opening his eyes or making a sound, the animal rolled  
over onto his side to face away from her. "Geez. Are you sick,  
or something?"

Maybe being away from Anthy was somehow bad for Chu-Chu...  
She should have sent or even taken him straight back to Anthy,  
whatever his wishes were. At the very least, she should have  
called Anthy and told her that Chu-Chu had stowed along in her  
bag; Anthy would probably be worried sick by now, especially if  
Chu-Chu's well-being was somehow dependent on his being in close  
proximity to her.

Now with doubly the reason to talk to Anthy, she walked  
rapidly into the kitchen to use the phone. Once again, there was  
no answer at the apartment. Frowning, Utena glanced at her  
watch; half past five. Anthy could be out shopping, or any  
number of things. Or she just might not be answering the phone;  
no, that wasn't likely. She'd try again after dinner, if there  
was time.

She let the phone ring a half-dozen more times, just in  
case. Her hanging up coincided almost exactly with the sound of  
the front door opening. She poked her head out of the kitchen to  
see who it was. "...Shiori-san."

Shiori couldn't even look at her. She dropped her foil and  
mask on the floor, and was taking off her boots as Juri entered  
behind her. Utena caught her eye questioningly; Juri looked  
pained, and almost imperceptibly shook her head, silently  
mouthing "not now". Repressing a sigh, Utena withdrew into the  
kitchen again. Light footsteps, the sound of the bedroom door  
opening, then quiet again. 

"Utena-san?" Juri stood just outside the kitchen. 

"Is Shiori-san..."

Juri stepped fully into the kitchen, head half-bowed. "I  
hope so. Then again, I thought that we'd already worked things  
out before... Utena, she remembers everything. Even about when  
she fought you as part of the Black Roses. She..." Juri  
trailed off, and stared intently at the floor in silence for a  
few long seconds. "Utena, she hates herself for what she did  
then... and she can't seem to understand that I don't hate her  
for what she did."

"Err... Juri-san, what did she do to you..."

Juri blanched, as though she'd given away more than she  
wanted to. "That doesn't really matter," she said hastily. "I  
just can't seem to convince her that things are still the same,  
that I still love her... maybe because they aren't. Because they  
won't ever be again."

"Do you regret that you met me again, Juri?"

Utena crumpled a little inside as Juri visibly hesitated.  
Finally, though, the other woman shook her head. "It's not a  
matter of regret, Utena. Was I happier yesterday, when I didn't  
know what had really happened to me at Ohtori? Yes, I was; I had  
Shiori, I loved my classes, I was making a lot of money  
modelling... But... happiness built on a lie is a false  
happiness."

"Only in hindsight," Utena murmured softly.

Juri leaned over and gently touched Utena's cheek. "I'm not  
sorry I met you again, Utena."

Utena uncomfortably stepped to the side, away from Juri's  
touch. "The Black Roses brought out the worst in people," she  
said quickly. "In the arena, they all said 'This is my true  
self!', but that wasn't true. Everybody's got dark places in  
them; Mikage just exploited that."

"Whatever happened to him, anyway?"

Utena paused, then shook her head. "You know, that's one of  
the things I don't know."

"Did you try calling Himemiya again?"

"Yeah. She still isn't home. Just one more thing to ask  
her about."

"'Just one more'?"

"I think Chu-Chu might be sick or something. He doesn't  
usually sleep this much."

"Oh."

Utena leaned back, bracing her palms against the sink  
counter, and looked Juri in the eye. "Anyway," she said, "you  
should tell Shiori-san what I said about Mikage. The Black Roses  
brought forth the dark heart--not the true heart."

Juri sighed. "I already figured that out," she explained  
quietly. "I already told her basically the same thing. You  
believe it, and I believe it... but I don't know if she does."

"So... why is she fixated on... me. You didn't tell her  
about... umm..." Utena trailed off, blushing hotly.

"That I kissed you after I got my memories back?" Juri said  
ruefully. "No; she just remembers watching me ask you for a  
photo for a new locket. That's all. I didn't tell her about...  
that. It would only make things worse."

"Hey, listen..." Utena turned away from Juri and opened the  
cupboard over the sink. "Geez, are these the only spices you  
guys have?"

"Why are you going through our cupboards?"

"Nanami should be back pretty soon; I'll cook dinner for  
everyone. At least, I thought I would... geez, do you two eat  
instant ramen _every_ night?"

"We're students, Utena. Of course we do."

Utena chuckled. "That's a joke, right?"

"Only half of one. Shiori cooks some nights; as for me,  
believe it or not, cooking is one of the few things that I'm only  
adequate at."

"I'm disappointed," Utena said lightly, looking through more  
cupboards and making a mental list of what she'd need. "You've  
destroyed my perfect image of the incomparable Juri-sempai."

"Good. The truth is, I'm only almost perfect."

"Hey... Shiori-san... she won't mind if I cook, will she? I  
mean, she might..."

"If she does, she shouldn't."

"Okay. Hey, where do you guys usually buy your groceries  
around here, anyway?"

* * *

"Has it been an hour already?" Anthy croaked as the door opened.  
"I really don't think it has." She laughed, woozy and unsure if  
she was awake or still dreaming. But the shadows and their  
spritely laughter were gone now...

"No. Agua."

"What?"

"Agua, bruja. Si? No?"

It took a moment to remember her Spanish, enough time to  
realize how parched her throat was. "Si. Por favor." She  
blinked her eyes a few times to clear them of the darkness and  
shadows that still seemed to cling to her vision. The man  
stepped fully into the little room, closing the door behind him.  
Not Leo, then; not even really old enough to be called a man. He  
couldn't be older than eighteen; a small, dark, big-eyed boy with  
glossy black hair curling well past his shoulders, who looked  
terrified to even be in her presence. The glass of water in his  
hand trembled, and there were spots of moisture on his fingers  
from where it had already slopped over.

Spanish--just one language of many to her--came back easily  
enough, like donning an old costume. "What's your name?"

He looked at her like a mouse at a cat, and then mumbled,  
"Mathias." He slowly moved closer to her, and lifted the glass  
to her lips to let her drink. She gulped water eagerly; it was  
flat and metallic, but tasted sweet as though from a mountain  
spring to her dry throat. He lowered the glass to let her  
swallow, and backed away.

"More," she gasped, then added, "Please?"

He let her drink again. This time, she drained the glass.  
Mathias walked to the door with the empty glass and prepared to  
leave. 

"Please, wait."

She half expected him to leave without acknowledging her,  
but he turned his head back, eyes wide and frightened. "Did Leo  
tell you to bring that to me?"

The boy shook his head. "Grandfather would not want me to  
be here." 

Anthy's eyes widened. "Grandfather?"

"I must go." Mathias opened the door and hurried out; a  
moment later, he stumbled back into the room; the empty water  
glass dropped from his fingers and smashed into glistening shards  
upon the concrete floor. 

Leo stepped in, looking from Mathias to Anthy, and shaking  
his head with seeming sadness. "Mathias, I did not say you could  
come here," he said in Spanish. Mathias was on his knees,  
murmuring apologies and gathered up glass shards into his cupped  
palm. "We'll talk about this later. Go now."

Anthy watched as the boy got hurriedly to his feet; suddenly  
he cried out. A bright drop of blood blossomed upon his finger,  
and a single blade of glass fell redly to the floor.

Leo reached out and gently passed his fingers over the boy's  
head, almost brushing his hair. He smiled affectionately. "It  
is only a little cut. Go and get Salvadore to give you a  
bandage."

"I only thought she might be thirsty," Mathias mumbled, not  
looking at Leo.

"She undoubtedly was," Leo said gently. "Go now." 

Mathias left, still cradling the glass he'd picked up. Leo  
closed the door behind him and turned his eyes to Anthy without  
saying anything.

"Your grandson?" Anthy asked softly.

"No," Leo said. "I have neither sons nor daughters to give  
true grandchildren to me."

"Then why--"

"Mathias's mother was a witch like yourself," Leo explained  
softly. "She and her consort--his father, perhaps, although I do  
not assume--lived in the Carpathians. They would move from small  
village to small village, draining the life from everything--  
men, women, children, animals, plants, the soil itself, the very  
bedrock--to fuel their rituals. Her consort gave me this before  
I killed them both." He untucked his shirt and raised it to show  
her a thick white scar almost bisecting his wiry stomach. "I  
found Mathias still in swaddling clothes, in the back of the cave  
in which they laired."

"A witch like myself," Anthy murmured. "There are many  
different kinds of witches, you know."

"There are many different ways to murder, as well, but each  
one is no less a crime," Leo said softly.

"Unless the murder is done in the name of your Holy Church,  
of course."

"God's work, although it may require killing, is not  
murder."

"And the boy has no idea?"

"He knows. I have not hidden his past from him. Knowing  
the sin of his birth and his parents have, indeed, made him a  
better servant of God than he might have been otherwise." Leo  
turned away from her, and knelt down to pick up a long sliver of  
glass. "But he is not suited for my task. His nature is too  
gentle, his heart too soft."

"Blessed are the meek," Anthy said softly.

"God needs his lions as much as he needs his lambs," Leo  
replied quietly. "It has been an hour, Anthy. Will you tell me  
where El Diablo is?"

"Looking over your shoulder, I believe."

He stepped forward and placed the glass sliver against her  
left cheek, right below the lower ridge of her eye. She saw the  
ring--the cross within the so-familiar stylized rose--upon his  
finger, and suddenly, terribly, realized how true her answer had  
been. The sharp glass point dimpled her flesh. "Will you tell  
me where your familiar is?"

"With my apprentice." She almost smiled; now, there was no  
room left for fear. Only regret, which she would never let him  
see in her.

He looked pleased; the pressure of the glass spike against  
her skin lessened minutely. "And where is your apprentice?"

"With my familiar."

Slowly, viciously, he drew the point down. She never made  
a sound. Sticky warmth began to trickle across her cheek. Leo  
turned away and hurled the bloody sliver of glass against the  
wall, shattering it.

"Look at your ring, Leo," she said to his back, very  
quietly. "Don't you recognize it? Don't you understand? I  
don't serve my brother any longer. Don't you see whose will you  
are truly serving--?"

He whirled suddenly, slapping her hard enough to rattle her  
teeth and tear the wound upon her cheek open again just as it had  
begun to clot. "Lies! Lying _bruja_! Silence your false  
tongue! Do you think you will deceive me again? All the words  
you have ever spoken to me have been lies! I am no longer a  
young fool to be led aside by your perfumed body and your fine  
jewels."

She looked at him sadly. "I grieve for what you have  
become, Leo," she said gently. "And for what role I played in  
it."

"Lying witch." He leaned against the door, breathing  
heavily, one hand clutching his shirt over his heart. A bead of  
sweat ran quickly down his face and fell to the floor; his Adam's  
apple bulged prominently against the papery, wrinkled flesh of  
his throat. "God curse your lying tongue. You grieve for  
nothing; it is not in you." His free hand scrabbled for the  
knob, found it, twisted it so that the door opened. Still  
breathing hard, he staggered out into the hallway, half-closed  
the door, then looked back at her. 

"You have another hour," he gasped. "If you would save your  
soul from the eternal fire, repent of your sins; if you would  
save your body from the ordeals that I will inflict upon you if I  
must, then answer my questions." He closed the door, cutting off  
the sight of his strained, pale old face.

Slowly, Anthy began to laugh, bitterly and without hope or  
joy. "Ahh, my dear brother," she whispered. "My brother, my  
killer. Is this how it will really end? Perhaps you've finally  
ceased to live in your fairy-tale coffin... this tale you're  
weaving now seems too dark by far to be a fairy-tale."

* * *

Utena raised the wooden spoon to her mouth, inhaled the scent of  
the fragrant broth, then tasted a little of it. She smacked her  
lips, gauging the flavour. "Hmm. A little more salt..."

It felt good to be doing something domestic, even in  
someone else's kitchen. At times, she almost managed to forget  
everything else, and felt almost normal.

She could hear Juri and Nanami talking in the living room,  
not loud enough for her to make out anything more than scattered  
words. When she'd got back from shopping with two paper bags  
full of groceries, Nanami had arrived, Chu-Chu was still asleep,  
and Shiori was still in the bedroom with the door closed.

The travel agent had called back while she was out as well.  
They'd managed to get seats on the last evening flight to Houou.  
Hotel reservations, as well. Other than the friction between the  
four of them threatening their alliance, things were going very  
smoothly. All that would undoubtedly change once they returned  
to Akio's domain, but, for now, she could let herself relax a  
little.

After adding a little salt and deciding she was satisfied  
with the taste, she turned away from the simmering noodle pot and  
went to chop some more vegetables. She entered the relaxing  
rhythm of the knife easily enough, only to have it interrupted a  
minute later by footsteps.

"Utena-san?"

She looked back. "Oh; Shiori-san."

Shiori walked slowly into the kitchen, hands clasped before  
her. "Juri told me you were cooking dinner. May I help?"  
"Sure."

Shiori went and took the apron with her name on it--Utena  
had decided to cook without one, as Shiori's had been the only  
one available--off the rack by the sink. "Thank you, Utena-san."

They exchanged no words more significant than those during  
the time they cooked. Utena didn't think they really needed to.  
Peace offerings often came in strange guises.

* * *

extra! extra!

do you wonder, do you know,

extra!

do you wonder what I know?

when i was a little girl, my favourite television show was  
"robot battler akira".

"i swear by akira, the galaxy's mightiest robot, that  
i shall utterly destroy mechanical emperor zackfeild and his  
armies, and thereby make the galaxy safe for peace!"

i had all the official "robot battler akira"  
merchandise!

\--"robot battler akira" action figures!

\--"robot battler akira" lunchboxes!

\--"robot battler akira" pencil boards!

\--"robot battler akira" sticker albums!

\--"robot battler akira" underpants!

but, alas! on the day that handsome pilot lance  
"bravo" guy sacrificed his life to destroy mechanical  
emperor zackfeild's "sun smasher" battleship, my childhood  
ended!

i swore that i would never watch "robot battler  
akira" again. i threw out all my official "robot  
battler akira" merchandise.

but then, one day, my friends told me of a new  
television show: "robot battler akira ne" (the ne stood for  
"new era").

they said it was a daring reinterpretation of the  
beloved classic series of my youth!

so i broke my vow. the new character designs  
were gorgeous. the villains were three-  
dimensional, and even sympathetic now. lance and  
his friends were less idealistic. more human.

but in the end, lance still died.

so what was it all for, then?

thank goodness that "robot battler akira hyper-x" is  
beginning next week! i'm sure things will turn out  
differently this time!

action!

drama!

romance!

all on the premiere episode of "robot battler akira  
hyper-x"!

don't miss it!

"What childish things you are," the prince murmured. He  
examined the solitaire spread before him, turned a card, frowned.  
"Knowing everything, telling nothing. Even power is meaningless  
without will to back it... without the desire and knowledge to  
use power for the proper ends, even power is useless."

He perused the cards again, then shrugged and swept them  
all from the desktop into his hands. He leaned back in his chair  
and began to shuffle the deck distractedly, watching the shadows  
move as he did.

"The hands are dealt," he said softly, eyes glittering.  
"The time has come, I think, to play more aggressively."

The cards blurred in his hands, buzzing like a swarm of bees  
as their laminated surfaces slid over one another. Suddenly, he  
slapped one down before him, covering its face with his hand.

Slowly, he drew his fingers away to reveal the card.

"So be it."

He smiled and reached for the phone.

End of Jaquemart - Part III


End file.
